


all pressed up in black and white

by mzanthropist



Series: Interludes [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Formalwear, Gen, Multi, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzanthropist/pseuds/mzanthropist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Karen’s decked out in haute couture, Matt’s clueless when it comes to Disney princesses, and Foggy’s in a perpetual state of “you’ve got to be kidding”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all pressed up in black and white

**Author's Note:**

> This was an excuse to get everyone in formalwear.  
> Also, if you'd like a visual, Karen's dress can be found [here](http://mzanthropist.tumblr.com/post/143908349292/tony-ward-ss-2016-couture).

“Karen’s here.”

Ears perking at Foggy’s announcement, Matt turns toward the doors that lead out into the foyer.

“And,” Foggy says, rocking onto the balls of his feet, a hand lifting high and waving for the blonde’s attention, “single-handedly setting a new bar for black-tie attendees everywhere. I mean, she always looks great – it’s, like, hard-coded into her DNA – but she’s taking it to a whole nother level tonight.”

Matt smiles to himself, small and wistful. As always, he would just have to take Foggy’s word for it.

“She’s got this ethereal, straight-out-of-a-fairytale look going on,” Foggy continues, grinning when Karen returns his wave. “Really channeling her inner Elsa.”

The glass in Matt’s hand stops short of his lips. “Elsa?” he asks, head canting to one side.

“From _Frozen_ ,” Foggy answers, heels dropping back down onto burnished marble as Karen decamps her post by the entrance and proceeds to weave her way through the throng of partygoers, making a beeline for his and Matt’s corner of the ballroom.

“The Disney movie?”

“Is there another?”

Matt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

Foggy regards his friend with fond exasperation. “No, Matt, there isn’t.” A sigh. “See what happens when you decide to spend every spare waking moment parkouring off rooftops and karate-chopping bad guys? Not only do you become a human punching bag-slash-pincushion, and a sleep-deprived one at that—”

Foggy silences whatever objection or defence Matt might’ve raised with a glare and motors on, undeterred. (Matt lets him – it was a fair assessment, after all.)

“—whose causalities include, _inter alia_ , human relationships and work obligations—”

Matt flinches at the barb – yeah, he deserved that.

“—you forget to indulge in the simple joys in life – Disney movies, for one – and pop culture references that even my ninety-year-old grandfather would have no trouble identifying fly right over your head. And given that Grandpa Al refers to _The Hobbit_ trilogy as ‘those troll movies’ and thinks _Pirates of the Caribbean_ is a documentary, you, Matt Murdock, pretty much take the cake for being the worst possible teammate to have on trivia nights.”

Matt cocks an amused brow. “I had no idea you were so keen on roping me into your non-existent trivia team.”

Foggy shoots him a dry look. “Dude, you’re my go-to guy for everything. Did you honestly think you’d somehow not be at the top of my ‘people I’d recruit for the hypothetical trivia team I may or may not have named Tequila Mockingbird’ list? Come on, now.”

“What’re you two bickering about this time?”

Both men look up as Karen approaches them, shifting to make room at the small cocktail table.

Foggy plucks a flute of champagne off a passing tray and hands it to her. “Debating the merits of a certain extracurricular activity that Matt here so enjoys risking his life for.”

“Ah.” Karen accepts the fizzing drink, smiling her thanks. “And what’s the verdict?”

“I think we’ve agreed to disagree that it’s good for the city, but doing absolutely no favours for Matt’s pop culture knowledge.”

“Apparently, I’m not as up-to-date on my Disney princesses as I should be,” Matt adds by way of explanation.

Karen’s nose wrinkles. “I’m afraid to ask how that even came up in conversation.”

“My doing, I’m afraid,” Foggy volunteers cheerfully. “I may have likened you to a certain princess who inadvertently sent her kingdom into a deep freeze and single-handedly made Idina Menzel a household name.”

Karen laughs. “The salesclerk told me to brace myself for comments like that. And I’m pretty sure the cab driver was humming ‘Let It Go’ during the last five minutes of the ride over.” She shrugs. “But I guess it’s a compliment, being compared to a fictional princess?”

Foggy nods solemnly. “Oh, definitely. I mean,” he flaps a hand in her direction, “you look amazing, Karen.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Karen teases.

“No, seriously,” Foggy says earnestly, “you’re doing an excellent job of upstaging every person in this room. Which reminds me…” His eyes do a quick, surreptitious sweep of the room. Apparently satisfied by what he sees (or doesn’t see), he continues, “Don’t let Marci see you until she’s had a couple of martinis in her. Otherwise, she might uncage her inner green-eyed monster and decide to take a page out of the ol’ jealous stepsister handbook.”

Karen chuckles, head shaking. “Thanks, Foggy. But I highly doubt that Marci’ll be in any way inclined to tear this dress to shreds. Not when she picked it out for me herself and then proceeded to use every lawyerly wile and tactic in her arsenal to sucker me into making the splurge in the first place.”

Foggy’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m sorry, but are we talking about the same Marci here? Marci Katherine Stahl? Platinum blond hair, about yay high—” a hand lifts to level with his earlobe “— and the only person I know who derives actual joy from being compared to Regina George?”

Matt’s face crumples with confusion. “Wait, who?”

Foggy ignores him. “ _That_ Marci took it upon herself to play fairy godmother?”

“The very same,” Karen confirms drolly. “I guess even the soulless can deign to do a good deed every once in a while.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Foggy murmurs, taking a pensive sip of his drink. “Nearly ten years I’ve known that woman, and every time I think I’ve got her all figured out, she ups and does something thoroughly uncharacteristic and unexpected, the very antithesis to everything I’ve come to know about her.” He sighs, head shaking in bemused disbelief. “She’s like this continually regenerating onion: every layer I peel back, three grow to replace it.”

Karen tamps down the laughter bubbling in her throat. “I don’t think you give her enough credit.”

“No, apparently not.”

“Or that she’ll appreciate being compared to a genetically modified onion.”

“Oh, she’d for sure kick my ass if she found out.” Foggy shudders. “And with her stilettos on, in all likelihood.” 

As Matt snorts into his glass and Karen tries (and fails) to stifle her laughter, Foggy’s phone buzzes to life with an incoming text, nearly vibrating its way off the linen-covered table. Giving the screen a cursory glance, Foggy lifts his eyes to catch Jeri Hogarth’s cool gaze and beckoning head tilt.

“Sorry, guys, but duty calls,” he says, snatching his phone and pocketing it. “Shouldn’t take long, though. In the meantime, snag a couple of bacon-wrapped dates for me if they happen to come around. They may look like lard-enrobed cockroaches, but those things are lethally delicious and ridiculously popular.” With that, he begins to bob and weave his way past servers and guests.

Nodding toward Foggy’s retreating figure, Matt draws a step closer to Karen. “Looks like Hogarth’s keeping him pretty busy.”

Karen hums her agreement, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “From what I’ve heard, she’s got him heading an entire department that focuses exclusively on vigilante justice – or ‘bailing out weirdoes in masks’, as Marci calls it. He’s got a corner office, a personal assistant and charge over a litter of junior associates who worship the ground he walks on and would gladly take a bullet for him.”

Matt chuckles. “Doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

“Me neither. He’s a kickass defense attorney and a total badass in court; he’s just too self-effacing and -doubting for his own good. I’m glad he’s getting some much-deserved third-party recognition and validation.” Karen takes a distracted sip of her drink. “Though I have to admit,” she laments, nose crinkling, “it’s weird, not knowing the ins and outs of the cases he’s working, the names of the clients he’s seeing, strategizing over takeout and beer…”

“It definitely takes some getting used to,” Matt agrees quietly, swirling the drink in his hand.

“On the bright side,” Karen says with a nudge to his ribs, sensing the plaintive turn his mood has taken and attempting to bring levity back into the conversation, “we get to be his plus-two for these obnoxiously well-catered schmooze-and-booze events and consume our weights’ worth of excellent canapés and champagne.”

“One of the many perks of being on a first-name basis with a name partner at Hogarth Chao Benowitz and Nelson,” Matt jokes back with a tepid smile, dimples winking at her spiritlessly.

In the same moment that Karen extends a comforting hand, a laughing, inebriated couple staggers toward them, red wine sloshing perilously in the glasses that dangle loosely from their fingers. Hand encircling Karen’s wrist, Matt gently tugs her out of the path of the stumbling duo, drawing her closer to him and away from a spill that would prove to be a challenge for even the best-reviewed dry cleaner this side of the Hudson. The couple, meanwhile, continues to lurch their way to the bar, oblivious to the near-collision and without even so much as a backward glance, never mind an apology.

Steadying Karen with a palm to her spine, Matt shoots their retreating backs a dirty look. _Assholes._

“Off duty and still heading off potential catastrophes,” Karen remarks, causing Matt’s head to swivel back.

His lips curve into a wry smile. “Hardly.”

She slants him a look. “Are you kidding? Red wine spilt down a dress I probably shouldn’t have bought in the first place _absolutely_ constitutes a catastrophe. You just saved me a couple hundred in dry cleaning, mister.”

“I consider forestalling extortionate dry cleaning bills a civic duty,” Matt says mock-seriously, his lips twitching, “a shared responsibility, if you will.”

Karen rolls her eyes, giving his shoulder a light shove. “Let a girl thank you, will you?”

Matt’s smile widens. “Completely unnecessary—” Karen inhales sharply, gearing up to launch into a protest “—but you’re welcome.”

She deflates with a gusty exhale. “You’re really making me work here, Matt.”

He lifts a shoulder, nonchalant. “I just figured a giant red stain might detract from the aesthetic of the dress.”

“Can't disagree with you there.”

“I wish I could see it.”

“What?” Karen’s brows knit together. “The dress?”

Matt nods.

“You don’t trust Foggy to give an accurate description?” she teases.

Matt huffs a laugh. “That and also because I’m sure you look beautiful in it.”

Karen ducks her head, biting down on her lip to keep her pleased smile in check. “I could describe it to you, if you want,” she suggests.

“Okay.”

Karen peers down at herself, studying the length of her gown, a hand ghosting over the exquisite beaded detailing that cascades down her chest and abdomen. “Well, for starters, it’s floor-length with a sheath silhouette and—” after a moment’s hesitation, she reaches for his free hand and places it on her clavicle “—a boat neck.”

His fingers trail a short distance down the length of her sternum. “Lace?”

Karen nods. “Yeah, the bodice is lace with—” she nudges his hand an inch to the right where the calloused pads of his fingers catch the beginnings of the intricate embroidery “—this unbelievably gorgeous bead detailing that makes my entire torso look like a frosted windowpane. It’s easily my favourite thing about the dress. And probably the reason I folded as easily as I did when Marci and the salesclerk were pressuring me to shell out two-and-a-half months’ worth of rent.”

She guides his hand to the dip in her waist and down the curve of her hip, the material beneath his fingers transitioning from the abrasive, scratchy mix of sequins and beads to the earlier diaphanous gossamer. “The skirt isn’t anything dramatic – just chiffon overlaid by lace with a bit more beading near the hem.”

“And the colour?” Matt asks, hand still resting on the slope of her hip, acutely aware of (and somewhat distracted by) the steady, reassuring pulse that thrums beneath fabric and flesh.

“Blue.” Dissatisfied with and inwardly chiding herself for the inadequacy of her answer ( _T_ _here are a million different shades of blue, Page._ ), Karen elaborates, “Pale and hazy – like the sky, midday.”

The smile that unfurls on his lips warms her heart. ( _I’d give anything to see the sky one more time._ ) “So, what do you think?”

“I think,” Matt drawls, smile turning impish, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “the wardrobes of animated princesses everywhere have undergone a major upgrade since the last time I watched a Disney movie.”

Karen laughs.

* * *

“So why exactly are those two not together?” Marci asks, nodding to Matt and Karen as she accepts the proffered martini from Foggy. “Because they’re real handsy for two people who claim not to be in a relationship.”

Foggy takes a sip of his own Old Fashioned. “It’s complicated.”

She shoots him a dubious look.

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.”

Marci rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever, don’t tell me. Either way,” she skewers an olive and pops it into her mouth, “they seriously need to get a room.”

Foggy lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Tell me about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and please drop a kudos and/or comment. They're much appreciated!


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